It was a dull, boring day. The sky was a muted gray, and clouds covered it entirely, making the atmosphere even gloomier. What else could you expect in Delhi, where pollution is the new normal?

Horns blared and curses flew in the afternoon traffic jam. The red of the car- headlights contrasted with the yellow of the partially visible sun. It made the entire atmosphere look like the canvas of a colour-blind painter. Like someone threw random colours on a blank surface without thinking how it would look. Gosh.

She groaned from inside her car, frustration bubbling to the top of her. She was going to be late for work. Again.
Her deadlines were as tight as her shoelaces; knotted three times to make sure they wouldn’t fall free. She slammed her phone down on the car seat and nudged her driver. “How much longer?”

“Madam, yeh Delhi hai. Yahan samay aaur maut ka pata kisi ko nahin,” He replied. “This is Delhi. If there are two things uncertain here, it’s time and death.”

Great. Just great.

He smiled from inside his car. A glow of peacefulness hung around him like a beautiful halo. Soft music played through his headphones, his favourite Spotify playlist on shuffle play. No worries, no cares.

He enjoyed traffic. So many people, so many stories. Unwritten, unheard, unsaid. He was going to the hospital for his monthly check up with his doctor. Leukemia had slid into his blood five months ago. Today was going to be important in regards to his future treatment.

He had no idea how much longer he was going to live. If he was going to live at all, he should live without worries. Live today, think about tomorrow later. Forget about the past. Just live.

The cobweb of cars inched forward, and the two cars we just spoke about budged too. Somehow, the windows aligned, giving them perfect views of each other.

He saw a stressed out woman, young, probably in her mid-twenties. Her head was in her hands, her hair a mess. Three folders and a phone lay near her.

She breathed in and lifted her head to see a young man. Oxygen tube through both his nostrils. A small, amused smile on his face. Eyes glinting in the sunlight. Earphones in his ears.

Their eyes met. For one, fleeting moment, green and brown pupils looked into each other. Through a barrier of glass and unknowingness, they spoke volumes to each other.

She blinked, he blinked.

She blinked. He blinked.

All in a split second, he knew about her deadlines, her tough family life, the lunch that was in her bag, the panipuri stall she wanted to visit later in the day, the guy near her cubicle she secretly thought looked attractive.

All in a split second, she knew about his disease. How, even though he didn’t show it, his insides were in a knot and his feet were shaking. How terrified he was, and how content he was at the same time. The sister he feared would forget him some day, the dreams he wanted so hard to make a reality.

And somehow, in one unsaid syllable of understanding, they nodded at each other. As if to say, “It’s going to be alright.”

All in one split second.

The traffic light turned green, and someone somewhere muttered “Finally! Took long enough.” The cars moved forward, in a rat race to reach their destinations before the traffic light decided their fate again.

Their eyes looked away as tires rolled. In a daze, he went back to his phone and she went to the half-open file near her. Both of them, smiling.

Later that day, she submitted her articles on time, and pumped her fist in the air as a sign of victory. The smile never really left her face.

He started chemo-therapy. His first step to recovery. He almost tripped over his saline rod as he thought about the brown-eyed-girl.

And that was how, without knowing a single thing, without asking for anything in return, without speaking a single word, two strangers helped each other make it through another day.

That was how, in the greatest arc of serendipity, on what was a seemingly dull, boring day on the streets of New Delhi, two lives changed.

Albeit in the smallest of ways, two lives changed.

Mindless Memoirs

a journey to remember.

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February 2021

Serendipity

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